


Trust Me

by ponticle



Series: Coffee Shop Universe [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adopted Children, Brooklyn, Children, Coffee Shop Universe, Columbia University, Doctors, Family, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Moving, New Relationship, New York City, Origin Story, Past Relationship(s), Same-Sex Marriage, Side Story, Tufts University, Unconventional Families, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-07 05:32:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: ...In which Cullen and Dorian went to medical school together and have been friends ever since. Cullen is a psychiatrist and Dorian a radiologist. Their best friend, Alistair, just broke up with his most important romantic partner to date, Anders, leaving their group in turmoil.Set in the Coffee Shop Universe. This will make the most sense if you go read themain storyfirst (also check out the multi-day challenges for more background information.) Welcome aboard, friends! :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This sits right after the 2nd challenge, when Alistair moves to Brooklyn. All of this is before Chapter 3 of the main story.

* * *

“Well, I’m about to _kill_ him,” says Dorian. He throws his phone down on Cullen’s coffee table.

He’s shaking his head and rubbing circles into his temples. Cullen wonders what that means, but they’ve been friends long enough that he doesn’t really have to ask. He _knows_ Dorian will explain it.

“Alistair is just going _on and on_ about this breakup—you’d think they got _divorced_ ,” complains Dorian.

“Well, they kind of _did_ ,” argues Cullen.

Dorian shrugs.

“I mean… that’s the closest I’ve seen Al to anyone…” mumbles Cullen. It’s a weird thing to say and a _weirder_ thing to think, considering their history.

“I guess,” says Dorian dismissively. “I just expected him to get over it once he moved—I mean, he’s sort of _dating_ , I think.”

“Really?” asks Cullen.

“Yeah… just casually,” says Dorian.

Cullen didn’t know that. He’s _surprised_ , actually, but he knows that dating random people is _not_ a cure for a breakup like this one.

Although he and Alistair were never actually _anything_ , he feels like _they_ broke up. They used to be as close as Dorian and he are— _closer_ , maybe—but that hasn’t been true in ages… _Anders_ was the real deal for him.

 “It’s just all this whining… it’s not my thing…” continues Dorian. “It’s really _your_ thing, Doc…”

Cullen laughs, “I _am_ pretty good at listening—but I make it a point not to work with people I know…”

Dorian hits Cullen’s shoulder and laughs.

“So what’s his main point?” asks Cullen.

“Oh, the usual,” Dorian rolls his eyes, “He’ll _never_ get over this; it’s a _disaster_ ; his heart is _broken_ , etc. etc.”

“That’s what he said?” Cullen feels his face flushing. That’s a _lot_.

“You know him—he’s very _dramatic_ ,” laughs Dorian.

Cullen doesn’t feel like laughing. He feels a _little_ like crying—not because of jealousy, but because someone he _cares about_ is hurting...and Dorian is right about one thing: of the two of them, Cullen is the _much_ better listener. But Alistair can’t talk to Cullen, apparently—he _won’t_.

“Are you okay?” asks Dorian. He squints suspiciously.

Cullen shakes his head and tries to smile. “Yeah—I’m good. It’s just _weird_ how this all turned out…”

“With Al?” asks Dorian.

Cullen nods. “Yeah… I might call him.”

Dorian scoffs, “Do _not_ do that—it’s the _last_ thing we need.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks Cullen.

Dorian stands haughtily, “I _mean_ … old habits die hard.”

Cullen nods. He’s right—transference and whatnot. He bites his lip and thinks.

“Tell him to write Anders a letter,” says Cullen. “The next time you talk… just mention it casually—like it’s your idea.”

Dorian smiles, “Sneaky… I like it.”

Cullen laughs, “It’s just a good exercise—get all the thoughts out and then keep the letters _or_ throw them away: it doesn’t matter. It’s the _activity_ that counts.”

“I’ll do that,” agrees Dorian. “...but I’m _not_ going to call him tonight—I've had it.”

“Fine, let’s watch a movie or something,” Cullen suggests. He doesn’t want Dorian to go home yet.

“Yeah, okay—you pick one,” Dorian walks toward the kitchen, “I’m going to get a drink.”

 

* * *

 

The next couple months pass uneventfully. Dorian gives Alistair the letter-writing advice and it seems to go well. Alistair apparently starts to do better, although he’s _still_ not talking to Cullen directly. He also starts seeing someone more seriously. Cullen is horrified when he learns it’s _Icis_. She’s not his student anymore, but _god_. It’s almost as bad as something Cullen might do himself—he’s his own worst critic.

Dorian and Cullen continue working at Tufts, but Dorian is unhappy with the hospital now that Alistair isn’t there anymore.  He isn’t even excited about meeting the new crop of interns, which is usually something he looks forward to every term.

Cullen still likes his job. He sees a few clients in addition to teaching and feels like he’s making progress with them. Despite how different everything is, he thinks this is where he’ll be staying for a long time.

 

_Until one day._

Dorian has an announcement: “Cullen,” his voice sounds funny on the other end of the phone. “I’ve gotten a job offer at Columbia,” he says.

“Really?” asks Cullen. “I didn’t even know you applied…” He presses the phone between his ear and shoulder. He’s in line at Starbucks, but he answered anyway. He _always_ answers when Dorian calls.

“Yeah… I kind of can’t _believe_ it worked out,” Dorian laughs.

“Al is going to be _elated_ ,” says Cullen.

...but Cullen _won’t_ be. Cullen hasn’t _considered_ what being away from Dorian for any period of time will _feel_ like. They haven’t done that since— _ever_ … since they _met_ —immature and idealistic at 22. Dorian was ‘ _that kid with the mustache_ ’ in the back row. Al and Cullen—who met one day earlier at orientation—vowed to get him into their study group after his first answer in class. He was (and is) brilliant.

Since then, they’ve _always_ been together—through internships and residencies; through breakups and family crises.

“Cullen?” asks Dorian. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” answers Cullen. “Do you want to finish telling me this at work?”

“Yeah, I guess. Can you bring me a coffee?” asks Dorian.

He starts to tell Cullen his order, but Cullen interrupts him.

“—grande triple shot mocha with coconut milk… I know, I know…” He’s smiling at the phone, even though they can’t see each other.

“You’re snarky today,” says Dorian.

 _Silence_.

“I think I like it.” Dorian hangs up.

The second Cullen gets off the phone, his mind starts spinning. If Dorian leaves, what will that mean for him? He runs through a mental list of his other friends as the line moves forward. There isn't anyone suitable at Tufts—he likes to keep some professional detachment.

He gets the coffee and rushes to work. When he gets to his office, Dorian is sitting behind the desk.

“Hi,” smirks Dorian. “Thank you.” He reaches out for the coffee.

“You're welcome…” Cullen rubs the back of his neck—it's a nervous habit. He hasn't done it lately… it crops up when he's stressed.

“So… when do you leave?” he asks tentatively.

“Three weeks,” answers Dorian. “And I have a question about that…”

Cullen squints. He tries to anticipate what Dorian is going to ask. It's probably _not_ , ‘ _please come with me_.’

“Will you help me move?”

Cullen feels his shoulders slump. It's a tiny adjustment—probably imperceptible to most—but it feels like _everything_ is too heavy.

“Yeah, of course…” Cullen responds.

“Perfect.” Dorian stands up and pulls the chair out, motioning for Cullen to sit. “Then I'll let you get back to it… I have a letter of resignation to draft.”

Cullen smiles, but it feels forced—like bending a mask.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks later, Dorian’s moving day arrives. By late afternoon, they're sitting on a mattress on the floor, surrounded by boxes, in his new Brooklyn apartment. It’s going to be kind of a long commute, but Dorian is really excited about this place and Cullen can see why—it’s adorable.

Dorian flops backward and wipes his forearm across his face. “Andraste… if I'd known it was going to be this grueling, I would have hired someone…”

“What did you expect?” laughs Cullen. He leans back onto an elbow and looks at Dorian. “Moving is always like this. Don't you remember our 5th floor walk up?”

“I remember you and Al carrying everything heavy.” Dorian grins.

The three of them were roommates during the first year of their residencies. It was a different time. They were wistful—and unbelievably naive.

“Next time, ask _him_ to help,” scoffs Cullen. “Where is he anyway?”

Dorian makes a face and rolls until he's looking at Cullen straight on. It's a little closer than Cullen is used to.

“What?” asks Cullen.

Dorian bites his lip. It's compelling, but a sign of potential danger.

“ _What_?” Cullen repeats.

“I think he's avoiding you,” whispers Dorian.

“What? _Why_?” asks Cullen.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Because you're a reminder of everything bad that has happened to him…”

Cullen starts to argue, but Dorian interrupts him.

“—in Al’s estimation, you were the catalyst for his breakup.”

“God… that's not even _true,”_ says Cullen. He sits up and gestures, “...and if he could be honest with himself, I think he'd see that Anders was _looking_ for an excuse to end it.”

Dorian shrugs.

“Remember, Dor? We _both_ thought that on the camping trip…” adds Cullen.

Dorian won’t agree, though, which Cullen takes as _judgment_.

He still regrets the momentary insanity that made him go to Alistair's apartment that day last year. He can’t reconcile why he did it, except to say that it was the first time Alistair wasn't _available_. It felt _different_. It felt like losing a part of his past. It's _amazing_ how possessive we can become over things that we never really wanted at all.

“Call him,” says Cullen.

“Why?” Dorian starts to get up. It's a feat—the bed is very low and soft.

“Because we were all best friends once…” says Cullen.

“That's a stretch—he was _in love_ with you,” counters Dorian.

Cullen doesn't let that argument dissuade him, “I just want to start the process of clearing the air.”

“Fine. I'll text him… but what happens when he gets here is on you.”

 

An hour later, Alistair knocks on the door. In the interim, Dorian has managed to stock a makeshift bar _—because_ _priorities_.

“Hello!” Dorian hugs Alistair at the threshold.

“Hey,” says Alistair. Then he sees Cullen—and his face falls. “Oh… I didn't know you were still here,” he mumbles.

“It's good to see you,” says Cullen, but he's wary.

“You too,” says Alistair.

That seems like a lie, but Cullen continues nevertheless.

“So how far away is your apartment?” asks Cullen.

“Just a couple blocks,” answers Alistair. He’s mostly talking to Dorian, though. “We’ll be able to hang out all the time.”

Dorian clears his throat. “Yeah… and I’m sure Cullen will come visit us whenever he can; right Cullen?” Dorian isn’t one to coddle, but Cullen knows he’s trying to keep the peace.

“Can I get you a drink?” asks Cullen. “None of this is my stuff, but I’m happy to offer it…”

They all laugh and he pours.

 

As the night goes on, Alistair starts to get sad.

“So how are you doing, Al?” asks Dorian, “...for real?”

Alistair shrugs. They’re sitting in a circle on the floor now, reclining to different degrees.

“I’m better—a little,” admits Alistair. “Not as much better as I thought I would be, though…”

Cullen, who can be a belligerent drunk, interjects, “I thought you were dating Icis now... Shouldn’t you be more than _a little_ better?”

Alistair turns, suddenly furious. “Yeah… because being in relationships is something _you_ really respect.” He spits the words out of his mouth like venom.

They’re all silent.

“I’m sorry—” he starts to say.

“No… you _meant_ it,” says Cullen. He stands to go to the kitchen. When he’s out of sight, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He can still hear Alistair talking, though.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” he whispers to Dorian. “I’m just kind of _raw_ still…”

“I understand,” says Dorian. “Just give Cullen some time… he’s raw too…”

That’s true—Cullen hasn’t felt so raw in ages. He just doesn’t know _why_.

 

The second Dorian locks the door behind Alistair, Cullen starts to lose it. “I can’t believe he acted like that,” he says.

“Like what?” asks Dorian. Whereas Alistair is a sad drunk, and Cullen an angry one, Dorian is _grouchy_.

“Like we never meant _anything_ to each other.” Cullen drops his head into his hands and leans into the island.

Dorian growls, “What did you _want_ him to do?”

Cullen does not have a particularly good answer for that. In the past, he wanted Alistair to act like he always had: supportive to a fault, indulgent of Cullen’s bad behavior, _enamored_...but that isn’t fair—he knows that now.

“What is this _really_ about?” asks Dorian suddenly. He pushes Cullen’s hands away from his face and almost knocks him off balance in the process.

“I don’t know what you mean. I think _you’re_ having a harder time with this than I am,” Cullen argues.

_Deflect, much?_

“Don’t make this about me, Cullen…”

Cullen rounds the island to stand next to Dorian. “Sorry…”

They stand shoulder to shoulder in silence.

“This move is proving harder than I thought it would be,” Cullen admits quietly.

“Harder in what way?”

“...harder… _on me_.”

Dorian raises an eyebrow.

“I don’t want us to end up like me and Al…” says Cullen.

Dorian almost laughs, “Well, I haven’t been _pining_ for ten years…”

Cullen doesn’t think that’s very funny, though.

“Sorry,” Dorian grabs his drink off the counter and downs the rest. “We won’t end up like that…”

“How do you know?”

“Because we’re _close_ ,” Dorian explains, “Closer than you and Alistair ever were…”

Cullen finds himself smiling. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” says Dorian. “Because I never debased myself to get you to like me—I never had an ulterior motive for hanging out…”

Cullen nods.

“...so you can trust me,” concludes Dorian.

 _Trust_. It’s an interesting concept—one Cullen isn’t really acquainted with.

“Can I?” he asks rhetorically.

Dorian looks at him. He looks _amused_ , more than anything—like Cullen is a blurry MRI that he can’t quite make out. “Tell me a secret and we’ll find out.”

It’s a dare, clearly.

“I don’t know if secret-keeping will prove I can trust you,” Cullen hedges.

“Then what will?”

_What, indeed?_

Cullen tries not to stare, but something about the way Dorian is smirking gives him pause. It’s a common expression—Dorian is _often_ superior and haughty—but there’s something hidden in his face that Cullen hasn’t seen before.

“Tell me, Cullen,” says Dorian, upping the ante, “ _what’s_ it going to take?” He turns so they are face to face.

And then… Cullen has a _bad_ idea.

Closing the space between them, he grabs onto the back of Dorian’s head and forces their mouths together. Dorian tastes like wine and missed opportunities.

Dorian backs up, “What are you _doing_?” He shakes his head like this is a terrible idea—which it _is_.

“Can I trust you?” asks Cullen. He’s drunk and impulsive and probably losing his mind, but it feels _right_.

Dorian doesn’t say anything. He bites his lip. For one of the first times in his life, Cullen thinks Dorian _doesn’t know_. Cullen decides to make the choice easier. He leans in—lips close enough to brush—and waits.

 _That’s_ when everything changes.

The next second, they’re careening toward that mattress on the floor. Cullen’s fingers are hopelessly tangled in the stuff that Dorian uses in his hair—it’s sticky and a little rough, but he’s too far gone to care.

“Cullen,” Dorian gasps between kisses, “we should _not_ be doing this…” He grabs for Cullen’s belt and unbuckles it.

“I know,” groans Cullen. He bites Dorian’s bottom lip for emphasis. This is the worst idea he’s had in ages—but he doesn’t want it to stop.

 

* * *

 

**The Next Morning**

Before Cullen opens his eyes, he knows something is amiss. His head _hurts_ —it’s the worst hangover he’s had since… maybe _ever_ —he’s not sure yet. He’s about to start yelling at every deity he can think of when he hears something: a sound he doesn’t know. It’s _breathing_.

That’s when he remembers—last night was _incredible_.

He opens his eyes slowly and tries not to move. Dorian has one of his legs thrown over Cullen’s waist and his entire chest is crushing Cullen’s arm—the fingers on that hand are quite numb. The way the sun is glistening off of Dorian’s skin is probably the most sinful thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi,” says Dorian.

It’s so sudden and comparatively loud that Cullen jumps.

Dorian laughs and picks himself up onto his elbows, freeing Cullen’s numb hand in the process. It tingles as the blood returns.

“I _have_ been told I’m intimidating in the morning,” jokes Dorian.

Cullen smiles and rolls onto his side. His lips accidentally land against the upper part of Dorian’s arm. He mouths the skin absently. It feels so natural.

“You’re not scary—I’m mostly afraid of myself,” he mumbles.

“Why?” Dorian kisses the top of Cullen’s head.

It seems so _obvious_ , Cullen isn’t sure he can explain it—he’s a _wolf_ ; his instinct is to kill; he leaves everyone else bloodied and broken in his wake. “I’m sorry about all this.” He rolls to face the ceiling.

Dorian leans over him. When their chests touch, Cullen shivers.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” says Dorian. “That was quite a performance.”

Cullen _wants_ to be contrite, but he likes to be complimented as much as anyone.

“Do you want to get breakfast before you go?” asks Dorian.

“ _Go_?” Cullen picks his head up.

Dorian laughs. “Back to Boston, you idiot.”

“Yeah… I suppose… I don’t feel ready to leave yet,” Cullen says. He tries to sit up, but Dorian pulls him back.

“So… did it _work_?” asks Dorian.

“What?”

“Do you _trust_ me?”

Cullen has a mental battle with myself before answering. He wants to say ‘ _yes—you’ve changed everything. I’m a new me_ ,’ but all of that seems ridiculous. He’s never said anything like that in his whole life. He doesn’t want to seem desperate. He doesn’t want to appear weak. Most of all, he doesn’t want to be _vulnerable_. ...But he wants to tell the _truth_ —that part of his psyche wins out.

“Of course I do,” he says. “I always did.”

Dorian smiles, “I knew it.” He leans down and kisses Cullen deep and slow. In that moment, Cullen thinks he’s awakened into some other reality—one where he’s worthy of being in bed with Dorian. One where he _isn’t_ a perpetual fuck-up.

“Come on, let’s get breakfast,” says Dorian. He stands and walks toward the bathroom without even attempting to put clothes on.

Cullen follows him at a slower pace. Despite what he thought at first, he isn’t _terribly_ hung over. He just has a headache. It feels a little like Dorian cured him. _He’s magic_.

 

Breakfast is underwhelming. They find a place on the corner that turns out to be incredibly busy on a Sunday morning. They have to wait in line just to be seated—packed in like sardines. Of course, that has advantages. Dorian presses himself tight against Cullen’s back and wraps his arms around his waist. It’s not what Cullen was expecting, but he likes it—he _craves_ it already.

They chat idly through breakfast. Dorian is going to buy a bookshelf later; he wants to join a local co-op; he’s wondering about an occult store they passed.

“You fit in here already,” comments Cullen.

Dorian laughs. His mustache isn’t so out of place in Brooklyn. He looks around the restaurant appraisingly, “I think I might finally be home.”

Cullen smiles, but something is _stabbing_ him internally—pain of separation.

 

They walk back to Dorian’s place side by side. Cullen keeps accidentally tripping on cracks in the sidewalk.

“Are you _okay_?” asks Dorian. He’s laughing. “You seem a little uncoordinated today.”

Cullen smirks, “—I’m surprised I can walk _at all_.”

Dorian wraps an arm around Cullen’s neck and pulls him in. When his mouth finds Cullen’s cheek, Cullen knows it’s time to say something.

“Hey, Dorian,” he detaches himself and turns so they’re looking at each other. “I’m not ready to go home.”

“You said that this morning…” Dorian rolls his eyes.

“No… I mean… I’m not ready—because I _can’t_ leave you,” says Cullen. It’s ridiculous, he’s never said anything like this. At least, not said and _meant_ it.

Dorian looks perplexed.

Cullen grabs his hands between them. “I can’t believe we waited this long.”

“ _What_?”

Cullen tries to smile, even though it feels painful. “If I had known what this was going to feel like, I would have done this when we were 22.”

Dorian _isn’t_ smiling. If anything, he looks scandalized. He pulls his hands back and runs one through his hair. He looks over Cullen’s shoulders like an _‘out’_ is going to present itself.

Cullen leans in, “I know… this is a lot.”

“I’ll say…” mumbles Dorian. “Let’s just get back to my place… I have a lot to do today…” He starts walking.

Cullen jogs to catch up to him. “Dorian… I know you—you’re thinking something that terrifies you.” He grabs onto Dorian’s shoulders to stop him. “Tell me what it is.”

He waits. Dorian doesn’t say anything.

“Dorian— _trust_ me.”

 

They spend the next 8 hours yelling at each other. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s better than the alternative. When they aren’t screaming about how ridiculous this whole thing is, they’re lamenting the wasted years spent with other people—ruining lives and taking each other for granted. Eventually, Cullen knows there’s only _one_ thing to say. He’s terrified of it, but it has to be said.

“Dorian—I love you.”

Dorian laughs, “Dear god, Cullen—are you out of your mind? We had sex _once_ and you’re professing your undying love? I realize I’m good… but get a grip—”

Cullen interrupts him, “Dorian—don’t deflect… I think we’ve both been dancing around this for _far_ too long.”

Dorian stops talking and looks into Cullen’s eyes. It feels like he’s assessing whether or not to believe him.

“ _Trust_ me,” repeats Cullen. It has been the mantra all day.

“I can’t!” yells Dorian. He throws his hands in the air and paces. “This is ridiculous! You’re _Cullen_!”

Cullen almost laughs—it’s such an absurd thing to say.

“—you’re that guy who bangs co-eds while stringing Alistair along for years! Do you have any _idea_ how many times I had to sit with him while he went on and on about you?!”

Cullen winces. He feels terrible about that.

Dorian continues shouting, “ _You’re_ the guy who has literally _never_ been in a serious relationship!”

“—I wasn’t ready,” says Cullen quietly. “Not until right this second.”

“Is _that_ what you’re proposing? A relationship?” yells Dorian. He tugs on his hair. “Just like that? Two _minutes_ in!?”

Cullen bites his lip and squints. “I think you know I am.”

Dorian wants to argue, but he can’t find the words. Cullen watches him struggle like he’s often watched his clients.

“I mean…” sputters Dorian, “how would that even _work_? We live four hours apart…”

“So I’ll quit my job,” answers Cullen easily. He realizes, even as the words form in his mouth, that he _means_ it. He doesn’t care about anything back in Boston—anything in his life—as much as he cares about this.

“Ha! And I’ll support you?” cackles Dorian. “I don’t think so…”

“I’m highly _employable_ , Dor…” Cullen smiles gently. “I’ll get a job teaching or I’ll go into private practice… or work in a group…”

Dorian rolls his eyes. They both know he’s losing this argument—and Dorian hates to lose. “What would we tell our friends?” He’s grasping at straws now. “ _How_ would we tell _Alistair_!?”

“Simple—we’d tell him we’re together,” answers Cullen plainly. “We’d tell him it happened suddenly—which it did—and that we’re seeing where things go. He’ll understand.”

Silence hangs between them for what seems like an eternity.

Finally, Dorian speaks. “Cullen… you need to go home.”

 

After another hour of back and forth, Cullen leaves. Under duress, he makes the trek back to Boston with barely a word to anyone. He tries to quiet the internal screaming, but it’s almost impossible. He can’t shake the feeling that he left his heart in that apartment.

Back at work, that feeling lingers. It’s made more intense by the fact that Dorian won’t take his calls. Eventually, Cullen can’t stand to be confronted with Dorian’s voicemail, so he stops calling.

He finds a tenuous rhythm and tries to forget.

* * *

 

“Cullen?”

Cullen looks up from his desk. He’s been at work for almost 12 hours—he feels dazed.

“ _Cullen_ …” repeats Dorian.

Cullen stands and squints, rubbing his eyes. He’s sure this is a mirage.

“Cullen, we need to talk.”

Cullen nods and gestures to one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. Dorian sits.

“I don’t know what you did, but I need you to fix it,” says Dorian.

“What?” asks Cullen.

“You’ve somehow ruined my _entire_ life,” continues Dorian. “I can’t sleep or eat or do _anything_ useful. I mean… I’m still fantastic at my job, but that’s the most _basic_ of my instincts…” he mutters.

Cullen feels a smile coming on. He wasn’t sure he _could_ smile anymore.

“So… I…” Dorian looks around the room. Cullen can tell he’s nervous, but trying to cover it up. “I know a realtor… in New York… I’ll give you her name.”

“A realtor?” parrots Cullen.

“Yeah… to get you started on your apartment search…” Dorian makes intense eye contact, “...if—if your offer still stands.”

Cullen swallows audibly, “It does.”

He rounds the desk in two steps and pulls Dorian up. They’re standing just inches apart.

“Are you in love with me?” asks Cullen. It’s a brave (and insane) thing to say, but he needs to _know_. It has been rattling around in his head for weeks.

Dorian rolls his eyes and makes a clicking sound with his tongue.

Cullen smiles sadly, “Please, Dor… just tell me and I’ll never make you say it again…”

Dorian bites his lip and looks up from under a tensely furrowed brow.

Cullen waits. There’s nothing else he can do.

“ _I love you_ ,” whispers Dorian.

That’s all he needs to hear. Cullen grabs Dorian and pulls him against his chest. He wraps a hand around the back of his neck and kisses his hair. He knows right then: _everything_ is about to change.

 

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Dorian embark on the first few months of their new arrangement. Not everything is smooth, but Cullen is actually alarmingly good at communicating--it's quite the contrast to the _other_ prominent relationship in this series.
> 
> \--------------
> 
> I planned this story as a one-chapter thing originally... but then I had more things to say... and people wondered how they got from barely dating to having a baby... so... here's that story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T/M: nothing too racy, but adult topics.
> 
> \-------------
> 
> This spans the time from the previous chapter through (and slightly beyond) chapter 3 of the main story.

* * *

A month later, Cullen is sure he’s never going to find an apartment in Brooklyn. He has gone on several trips to see places, but nothing works. On the evening of another failed apartment hunt in Brooklyn, he stops by Dorian’s place.

“Hey,” he smiles at the threshold.

“Hi,” says Dorian.

They kiss—it’s gentle and sweet and the best part of Cullen’s day _anytime_ it happens.

“Did you find anything today?” asks Dorian. He walks back toward the kitchen and fusses with some knobs on his range. It’s an apartment-size stove—only two burners.

Cullen sighs, “No…”

Dorian looks up at him sympathetically.

“And I start work on Tuesday,” continues Cullen. He’s taken a job in a group practice just a few blocks from Dorian’s apartment in Prospect Heights. “I just don’t know how long I can continue living in a hotel…”

He’s _hinting_ , of course. He wants Dorian to say, ‘ _Just stay here with me,_ ’ but Dorian hasn’t offered anything like that; he’s being cautious.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find something soon…” says Dorian, turning back to his pots and pans.

“You know, Dorian…” Cullen broaches the topic carefully. He tries to keep his voice neutral. “We _have_ lived together before…”

Dorian turns and looks at him reproachfully, “Yeah… as _roommates_ … this is a little different.”

Cullen smiles—he’s been caught before he even got his whole argument out. “You have a guest room… I could move in here… pay half the rent… just _temporarily_ , of course.”

“Oh my god…” Dorian rolls his eyes. “That is _not_ a thing.”

“What do you mean? We did it before—for _years_ ,” argues Cullen.

“Yeah… and you were a _model_ roommate, let me tell you,” Dorian laughs haughtily. “I _love_ finding bras in my kitchen and disgruntled women looking for lost shoes in my living room.”

Cullen cocks his head to the side and approaches Dorian gently. “Obviously, that’s not going to happen _this_ time…” When his hands find Dorian’s waist, he pulls him in. “...you might lose some undergarments, though—that’s been known to happen around me.”

Dorian laughs and drops his forehead against Cullen’s shoulder. “It is a totally terrible idea… we _cannot_ live together…” he looks back into Cullen’s eyes. “I want to give us a _chance_ …”

Cullen nods reluctantly. He wants this to work more than anything. He just has a feeling—an intuition—that it’s going to work regardless of their living situation. He thinks it might even be _more_ likely if they wake up together every morning.

Dorian does not seem to share his opinion.

“Okay, Dor…” agrees Cullen, “I’ll keep looking tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

He _doesn’t_ find a place, though. Despite his best efforts, there is nothing suitable in Brooklyn. People are looking to rent _rooms_ , not places. It’s a miracle that Dorian found his apartment when he did. Under duress, he calls Alistair.

“Hello?” answers Alistair.

“Hi…” Cullen clears his throat. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time…”

“No… I’m just walking to the subway…” answers Alistair.

“Well, I’m hoping you might be able to help me,” he says. “I’m looking for an apartment—in Brooklyn—and I’m having a terrible time finding a place…”

Alistair makes a huffing sound. Cullen isn’t sure what it means, so he ignores it.

“I’m just wondering if you know anyone who is looking for a roommate temporarily,” continues Cullen. “Someone who isn’t _crazy_ , preferably…”

Alistair interrupts, “You’re moving to Brooklyn?”

Cullen has been dreading this conversation. He wishes _he_ wasn’t the one having it.

“Yeah… I’m…” He thinks about lying, but decides against it. “Dorian and I are… we’re seeing each other…”

Alistair huffs, “Then why don’t you just stay with him?”

“We aren’t really at that stage yet…”

“Uh huh….” Alistair’s tone sounds like he’s rolling his eyes.

They’re silent for a minute.

“Well, as it turns out…” Alistair sighs, “my girlfriend lost one of her roommates recently—they live in a four-bedroom townhouse in Crown Heights.”

“Icis?” Cullen asks.

“Yeah…” he coughs, “And I’ll ask her for you—as long as you aren’t going to make me look like an asshole.”

“I won’t,” promises Cullen.

They hang up.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, he brings his stuff to Icis’ place. He stands at the bottom stair outside and looks up. The building is old—probably early 1900s. It’s beautiful in an understated way.

Icis opens the door, “Hey, Dr. Rutherford,” she says.

The formality makes him wince. “You can just call me Cullen… unless you want me to call you Dr. Lavellan.” He smiles.

She shakes her head, “Come on in—I’ll show you your room.”

He follows her warily. She’s so nice—he remembers why he liked her so much when she was a student. He feels really bad about what happened on the camping trip—starting that fight between her and her ex. He tries to suppress the guilt and smile.

“So… this is where you’ll be staying,” she shows him to a bright room at the back corner of the house. It has windows on two sides. “There’s a bathroom in this hall—you’ll have to share that with me, though,” she blushes.

“Thanks, Icis,” he smiles, “I really appreciate it…”

She beams.

“I’m not planning on being here too long… hopefully just a month or two,” he explains.

“It’s fine, Dr. Ru—” she interrupts herself, “ _Cullen_.”

They walk back toward the kitchen.

“I’m actually really glad you’re here—our roommate got a job offer in Chicago and had to leave quickly,” she explains, “We are so fortunate that you needed a place to stay—our rent is pretty expensive… fucking New York,” she laughs.

Cullen smiles. They’re standing on opposite sides of a large butcher-block table. It fits the character of the house—the whole thing looks lived-in.

Now that they’re alone and they’ve seen all the common spaces, he’s not sure what to say. They don’t know each other very well.

Icis breaks the silence, “Do you want to get lunch with me?”

Cullen isn’t sure. He thinks it’s probably a terrible idea, but he doesn’t know anyone else in the city besides Dorian—who is at work—and Alistair—who currently hates him—so he agrees.

“There’s a great place right around the corner—it’s kind of a dive bar… but they have fantastic burgers,” she offers.

“I haven’t been taxing my arteries enough lately,” he jokes.

           

It’s more of a diner, really—very long and skinny, with hardly any tables. They find seats next to each other at a 1950s-style bar.

“So… I feel like I have to clear the air,” says Cullen. He wants to head off any potential awkwardness. “I’m really sorry about what happened on the camping trip—I didn’t mean for our conversation to ruin everything.”

She shakes her head. “Please don’t apologize…” she sighs, “I needed to break up with Sera for ages…”

Cullen raises an eyebrow at her.

“...we were great together in college—she helped me feel good about being bisexual…” explains Icis, “...but she wasn’t ready for something serious—she wasn’t willing to _grow_ with me.”

Cullen nods understandingly.

“And besides,” she smiles down into her drink, “I have Alistair now—he’s _incredible_.”

Cullen wants to die a little.

“I mean—you’ve known him forever…” she continues. “He’s just the _best_ person—fantastic partner, conscientious doctor… he’s the real deal...”

“Yeah… he’s really great…” agrees Cullen. He has reservations about this conversation, though. He’s not sure how much she knows about their history and he doesn’t want to speak out of turn. First of all, she’s now his roommate, so he wants to keep things friendly. _And_ , in an uncharacteristic show of altruism, he wants to make sure he doesn’t ruin the persona Alistair has created for himself. He seems to _just_ be getting back on his feet.

“So,” Icis laughs, “enough about my boyfriend… I feel like I’m 12…”

Cullen smiles. The food arrives at the same time and they dig in. It’s _super_ good—and greasy.

“Tell me about your new job,” says Icis.

Cullen spends the next twenty minutes explaining his group practice—all the people involved from the clinical director down to the office manager.

Eventually, Icis gets into a story about how she picked her residency and Cullen feels like he can start to relax. Maybe this is going to work out after all. Just then, Icis gets a call.

“Excuse me.” She smiles at Cullen and pulls the phone up to her ear. “Hi, Al… how are you?”

Cullen averts his eyes and pretends to be extremely interested in his last few french fries.

“What do you mean?” Icis asks. Her eyes narrow. “I’ll be home soon… do you want to meet me there?”

She looks at Cullen quizzically, then speaks quietly into the phone. “Yeah, I’m with him right now… Okay. Bye.”

“What was that about?” asks Cullen.

“Al had a really shitty day… he’s afraid they’re going to fire him,” she breathes.

Cullen’s eyes widen. “Do you think they will?”

“Definitely not,” says Icis. “They literally can’t run the orthopedics department without him—he’s essential.”

Cullen wonders how much her opinion of Alistair is colored by their relationship. From what he knows of Alistair as a physician, though, he thinks she’s probably right. He is _really_ good at what he does—especially the teaching aspects of it.

“I told him we’d be right there,” she motions for the bill and pays it instantly.

“Can I give you some money for that?” he asks.

Icis smiles, “No. You can owe me one later, Roomie…”

 

The walk back to her— _their_ —place is short, but she’s walking extra fast. When they round the block, Alistair is sitting on the bottom stair. A second later, Dorian turns onto the street from the other direction. When he sees Cullen, he smiles. It’s just a small thing, but Cullen feels sort of _warm_.

“Hey,” says Icis. She immediately sits on the stoop next to Alistair and wraps her arm around his back.

“Hi,” Alistair looks up at all of them. He seems really tired. “Thanks for coming to my rescue—I didn’t mean to alarm everyone…”

“What are friends for if not alarmism?” asks Dorian. He folds his arms across his chest and stares down at Alistair gently. Cullen thinks he looks _paternal_ , which, for some reason, is _really_ attractive.

Alistair shrugs. He leans into Icis.

Cullen wants to like them together, but he _doesn’t_. It just feels weird and wrong. He isn’t sure if it’s something selfish or something selfless that’s making him feel that way. His objectivity _might_ be compromised… but he thinks it has to do with Anders. His internal monologue is interrupted when Dorian addresses him.

“Well?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” asks Cullen. He wasn’t paying attention.

Dorian rolls his eyes, “Alistair would rather get drunk than talk about this… do you want to go to the store, or should I?”

“Oh,” Cullen smiles, “Let’s go together.”

Alistair snickers.

“Dear god… is _that_ what this is going to be like now?” Dorian mutters. “Come on, Cullen…”

He grabs the crook of Cullen’s arm and drags him down the street. When they turn at the corner, he stops.

“Are you okay?” Cullen asks.

“Okay-ish...” Dorian answers. He’s whispering, which is strange. It isn’t a thing he usually does.

Cullen smiles at him; even _uncertainty_ looks good on him.

Dorian sighs, “I just don’t want this to make things _weird_ … we’ve all been friends for so long.”

Cullen nods.

“I mean,” Dorian starts walking again, “It was bad enough when you weren’t speaking… but now…” He scuffs the sidewalk with his shoe, “It’s like I’m taking your side…”

“There really are no sides, Dor…” argues Cullen. “Alistair was hurting after his breakup… he had to assign the blame somewhere…”

Dorian squints at his feet.

“And I happened to be that person… but he’s seeing Icis now,” Cullen explains. “And she is _crazy_ about him.”

“Really?” Dorian perks up.

“Yes… she acts like he’s god’s gift…” laughs Cullen. “I’d think it was a little creepy if I didn’t know Icis—she’s intense about _everything_ she does.”

“So you’re going to stay with her for a while?” asks Dorian.

“Yeah… until I find something.” Cullen pauses. He isn’t sure he should continue with that thought, but he decides to anyway. They’re trying to be transparent with each other. _Trust_ and whatnot. “I hope I find something closer to you… or maybe we’re at a different stage in a few months…”

Dorian raises an eyebrow. He looks stressed.

“It’s not a command…” Cullen tries to make his voice sound gentle. “Just a hope.”

Dorian shrugs. He still hasn’t looked up.

“Okay… so what are we buying?” asks Cullen.

“I’m not sure… something strong… he likes bourbon,” answers Dorian. “And he’s a  hipster… so definitely a small batch.”

Cullen laughs, “He _really_ is… it was iffy in Boston… but he’s really letting that side out now that we’re here…”

 

* * *

 

Through the next several months, Cullen starts to adjust to life in this new city. He likes his job a lot—he hasn’t worked with clients full time in years. The pay is _much_ better. The only thing that _doesn’t_ seem to progress is his relationship with Dorian. One particular morning that fall, he’s on his way to work when he receives a text.

 **Dorian** : I have to go to a conference next week. Can you water my plants while I’m gone?

 **Cullen** : where are you going?

 **Dorian** : Somewhere  boring… Ohio, I think?

 **Cullen** : lol. Yeah, I can do that.

 **Dorian** : Great. I’ll come by your place tonight to give you the keys.

 

It doesn’t really _feel_ like they’ve been dating for the better part of six months. It feels more like they are old friends who sometimes get together to have sex—when Dorian is sick of reading and too unmotivated for traditional exercise. Cullen wants to address it, but he _knows_ Dorian—pushing him isn’t going to help. In fact, making demands is the only way to _ensure_ Dorian runs in the other direction.

He _would_ like to sometimes be assured, though. He sometimes wants to tell Dorian he loves him… but other than that _one_ instance, back in Boston, they don't say that.

 

The following Tuesday, Cullen trudges over to Dorian’s place through a rain storm. He’s completely soaked when he gets there—unfortunate, since he has to go straight to work from here. In lieu of trying to find something of Dorian’s that fits him, he decides to get completely undressed and throw his clothes in the dryer for fifteen or twenty minutes. It’s funny being there by himself. Dorian normally lets him see the kitchen, the living room, and—of course—the bedroom, but he _never_ goes into that guest room. The dryer is right next to its door.

“You probably don’t want to get my hopes up…” Cullen says aloud. But he’s curious, so he turns the knob and opens the door. He expects to see thousands of dusty books or shoe boxes piled to the ceiling, but instead, a solitary piece of furniture sits in the center of the room: a rocking chair. On its seat, there are a few letters.

Cullen _knows_ he shouldn’t read them… but they’re already open—they’re not even in envelopes anymore. He peeks.

 

 

* * *

 

Dear Dr. Pavus,

 

We’ve received your application and are processing it. I would like to warn you that as a single applicant, your application will be low on the list. Applications from two _married_ parents are generally the most successful. If you have any questions, please contact our office.

 

Sincerely,

Genine Bards

Adoption Agent

* * *

 

_Dear god. **What**?_

 

There are several other letters too. They’re almost in order: one says they understand that he’s a physician and that he has substantial income, but that they’re afraid he won’t have enough _time_ to spend with a child. Another one says something disparaging about his _‘lifestyle_.’

The more Cullen reads, the more faint he feels.

 _Dorian wants to have a baby_?

He considers calling Dorian right then, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do it without yelling. Instead, he puts the letters back the way he found them, closes the door, waters the plants, grabs his clothes, and leaves. Dorian is supposed to be home on Friday. He’ll deal with him then.

Cullen grits his teeth and uses a few breathing techniques to calm himself down. He isn’t going to be able to deal with his clients properly in this state. As he walks down the sidewalk he runs through a hypothetical conversation:

“Okay, Dorian… you have a secret…” he mutters under his breath. “...and I’m your boyfriend—but we’re still sort of _new_ …” A voice inside his head insists that _‘new’_ isn’t accurate. “New- _ish_... so it makes sense that you wouldn’t feel comfortable telling me. It’s _reasonable_ ,” he assures himself. “But I wish you _had_ told me… this is a big deal. Depending on how things go between us, this could change my _life_.”

 

* * *

 

Tuesday through Friday move at a glacial pace. Cullen tries not to obsessively check his phone, but he finds himself wondering if it’s _working_ —Dorian hasn’t called or texted at all. Eventually, on Friday afternoon, he breaks down and calls.

“Hey,” says Dorian. “Nice to hear from you…”

“Yeah… you too,” grumbles Cullen. “What time are you going to be home tonight?”

“About 7… do you want me to stop by your place?” he asks.

“No—I’ll meet you at yours. I want to give your keys back,” he says.

Dorian makes a noise—something dismissive. Normally, Cullen can deal with that, but today he’s feeling vulnerable.

“Dorian—we need to talk,” he says seriously.

“ _Okay_.”

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home.” Cullen hangs up.

Almost as soon as he puts the phone down, it starts ringing again. He assumes it’s Dorian calling back, but it isn’t. When he looks, he sees it’s Alistair.

Thankfully, things have been getting steadily better between them. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

“Hello?” answers Cullen.

“Hi,” says Alistair.

“Hi!” yells Icis in the background.

Cullen smiles to himself.

“Icis says hi,” laughs Alistair.

“Yeah, I can hear her. What’s up?”

“We wanted to see if you and Dorian would come over to my apartment later… we have… kind of a _surprise_ …” says Alistair. Icis is giggling in the background. It’s funny to hear her make that noise—she’s usually so serious. She’s also a really great roommate, but she doesn’t stay at the townhouse very often anymore—she spends most of her nights with Alistair. Cullen misses her.

“Okay, we can come over…” he acquiesces. “Let me call Dorian and tell him.”

“Okay… like 8, maybe?” asks Alistair.

“Yup.”

Cullen hangs up and immediately dials Dorian; this time it goes to voicemail.

“Hey… it’s Cullen… Alistair and Icis apparently want to see us tonight at 8… so…” he pauses. “I still really need to talk to you… but I guess it will have to be after. Let’s just meet there.”

 

 He doesn’t hear from Dorian for the rest of the day, but he assumes his message was received. Dorian is never very far from his phone, which makes it feel even more obvious that Cullen is being _ignored_ on purpose.

At 8:06pm, Cullen climbs the stairs to Alistair’s apartment. His place is really adorable—the nicest of all their apartments.

“Hi!” calls Icis, opening the door.

“Hey,” he steps inside and hands her a bottle of wine.

“You didn’t have to bring me that…” she says.

“I was bringing it to Alistair… I was under the impression _you_ lived with me?” he teases.

She laughs and rolls her eyes.

When he gets into the kitchen, Dorian is already leaning into the counter, a glass of wine in his hand.

“Nice of you to call me back,” whispers Cullen.

Dorian squints at him and shrugs. “I knew I would see you here...”

Cullen sighs and pours himself a drink.

“So… I’m really glad you guys are here,” says Alistair. He’s blushing—a _lot_.

Cullen and Dorian squint at him in unison.

“What’s up?” Dorian asks.

“Well…” he looks at Icis for reassurance, “we’re getting married.”

Cullen feels his eyes widen.

“...and we wanted to tell you before we told anyone else…” adds Icis. “Because you're our best friends.”

A pit forms in Cullen's stomach. They both look so happy, but he's worried. Just a few months ago, Alistair was a _mess_ —lamenting the loss of his supposed soulmate. This feels dangerous.

“Wow,” blurts Cullen. “That's… _wow_.”

Icis rounds the island and hugs him. “Are you happy for me, buddy?”

Cullen swallows, “Of course I am. You deserve all the happiness in the world,” he says. Then he looks at Alistair—more warily than he means to, “you _both_ do.”

Dorian suddenly raises his glass, “to the Drs. Theirin?”

Icis glares at him, “If anything, it's going to be _the doctors lavellan_ ,” she laughs. “I’m the one who asked.”

Cullen thinks she’s brave.

“Let's just keep it simple,” offers Alistair. “To the _doctors… all_ of us.”

 

* * *

 

Everything from that point on is a party. They drink, they laugh, they brainstorm wedding ideas. It's all very jovial—until it's time to leave.

“It's getting late…” says Alistair. “And I _love_ you guys, but please leave.”

Everyone laughs.

“Need some alone time with your fiancé?” teases Dorian.

Alistair laughs; Icis winks at them.

“All right then,” laughs Dorian, “we will get out of your hair.”

He pulls Cullen by the arm toward the door. It's the first time he's touched him all night.

When they're outside, Cullen clears his throat.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

Dorian tisks, “So you've said… what _is_ it?”

Cullen doesn't appreciate his tone, but he continues anyway, “I saw the letters…in your guest room...”

Dorian stops dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Other pedestrians have to sidestep him.

“ _What_ did you just say?” he asks.

“I'm sorry, Dor…” Cullen takes a step closer so he can see Dorian's face in the streetlight. “I shouldn't have read them… but I did…”

“Why the hell were you _in_ there in the first place?” shouts Dorian. He looks absolutely furious.

“I was curious…” admits Cullen. “I thought you were just holding out on me about the spare room. I thought it would be a library or walk-in closet or something.”

“Holy shit, Cullen,” Dorian mutters. “This is a _huge_ breach of trust.”

“ _This_ is?” Cullen's eyes narrow, “What about _not_ telling me you’re trying to adopt a _baby_? I didn't even know you _liked_ kids.”

If it's possible, Dorian looks even angrier.

“We’re _together…_ ” mumbles Cullen uselessly.

“This is exactly the reason I didn't want you involved in this…” Dorian growls.

“ _What_ is?”

“You've known about this for two seconds and you're already trying to take it over!” Dorian shouts. “This isn't _about_ you.”

“I'm just trying to understand what's happening in your life,” Cullen says quietly. He puts a hand on Dorian’s shoulder and looks into his eyes. “This is a huge step…”

Dorian looks both ways down the street and sighs.

“Please, Dor…” Cullen reiterates, “help me understand what's going on here?”

Cullen waits. As a therapist, he's learned the value of silence. In this particular situation, he finds it hard to wait Dorian out, but he knows he has to.

“I want to have a baby,” says Dorian finally.

Cullen nods.

“I've wanted it for a long time… five years at least…” he continues. “And _really_ ,” he shrugs at Cullen, “I think I _always_ wanted kids… I just didn't know it would be a possibility… based on my life and whatnot…”

Cullen smiles grimly. He knows exactly what Dorian means, of course. Coming out was not as painless for him as it had been for Cullen. Or for Alistair, for that matter, whose uncle and aunt threw him a bi-pride themed party when he brought home his first boyfriend. No, Dorian's parents _still_ wouldn't speak to him—to this day.

“...but then… we moved here, to this new city, and I thought: Dorian, this is your chance.”

Cullen squints, “I understand all of that… I _love_ all of that…”

Dorian looks tentatively hopeful.

“...I just don't understand… why did you want to keep it a secret from me?” asks Cullen. He tries to make his voice sound gentle, but it comes out sharper than he intended.

Dorian rolls his eyes and backs up. The little bubble of safety they had developed pops.

“Because I'm not having a baby _with you_ ,” Dorian says.

“I get that… but why not even mention it?”

 _Silence_.

Cullen clears his throat audibly. It feels like he inhaled water.

“Because…” says Dorian darkly, “this isn't going to last.” 

“Why would you say that?” Cullen asks.

Dorian shrugs. His face is decidedly neutral.

 _“_ Dorian, I'm in love with you.”

Dorian huffs noncommittally.

“I mean… _if_ this isn't going to last, it's because _you_ haven't given it a chance,” says Cullen. He's speaking quietly so he won't seem threatening, but he’s on the edge of losing his cool. It feels like this is preamble to a break up. “I mean… you’re the one who hasn’t even considered moving in together in the better part of six months… and that’s on top of the fact that we’ve known each other for over a decade…”

“Stop it,” says Dorian. He waves a hand dismissively.

Cullen won’t be dissuaded, “You’re also the one who refuses to say you love me—”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Dorian repeats.

“I’m just being honest—” says Cullen. “You’re closing the book on our relationship before we’ve even had a real chance. What happened to _trusting me_?”

“ ** _Stop_** ,” interrupts Dorian. “This has nothing to do with you… and the way you’re handling it just supports what I already knew… I think we’re _done_.”

Cullen’s breath catches. His pulse is thrumming in his ears.

Dorian starts to walk away. _Just like that_.

Cullen feels like Dorian is deflecting. If he watched a patient act like this, he would be suspicious. “If that's true, _why_ did you come get me in Boston? _Why_ did you want me to move here?”

“Momentary insanity…”

“Dorian…” Cullen jogs a few steps to catch him, “I know that isn't true… you said you _loved_ me.”

“Under _duress_! You just _had_ to hear it…” scoffs Dorian.

Cullen fills his lungs with a slow breath. He needs to calm his pulse. It feels like he's going to have a heart attack.

“If this is how you feel…” he begins.

“—I can’t talk about this right now,” interrupts Dorian. “I'll call you.”

Cullen stares at him—feet glued to the pavement. “Don't bother. I think I finally know where we stand.”

 

* * *

 

**Several Weeks Later**

 

“Is this how Dorian felt when _we_ weren't speaking?” asks Alistair.

Cullen laughs, “Probably…”

“God, being in the middle like this _sucks_.” Alistair smiles sadly. “I'm really sorry that you’re both so unhappy, though. I just don't understand what happened...”

Cullen _wants_ to tell him. He wants to give him every detail. He has a feeling Alistair would be on his side if he did, but he respects Dorian too much to do it. This is a hell of a secret. So he's been hedging. He explained that they're ‘ _taking a break_.’ He just can't seem to hold himself together.

“I don’t really think I can keep talking about this right now,” says Cullen. He drops his head into his hands on the counter between them and groans.

“I understand,” says Alistair. “You can hang out here as long as you want—and if you want to talk about it, we’ll talk about it… and if you _don’t_ … we won’t.”

 

Cullen spends the next few hours moping around Alistair’s kitchen. He sits on a stool at his counter so long his legs start to go numb. They drink too much, eat too little, and eventually start to get into the crux of this.

“Is this how you felt when you broke up with Anders?” asks Cullen.

Alistair’s eyes widen fractionally. He sets his beer on the edge of the counter and swallows hard.

Cullen wonders if that question is going to reignite their perpetual fight. Just as he’s starting to regret bringing it up, Alistair answers.

“Sort of…” he hedges. “Like… one minute everything is fine and the next it’s all falling apart—and there’s nothing you can do to stop it?”

Cullen nods.

“...and… there’s nothing _wrong_ —but it isn’t _right_ , either?” adds Alistair.

“Yes… exactly.”

“Then _yes_ ; I know exactly how you feel,” says Alistair.

They stare at each other. Cullen feels like they’re on the verge of making amends. Then Alistair’s phone rings noisily on the counter between them. It’s Dorian.

“Don’t tell him I’m here,” says Cullen.

Alistair rolls his eyes. Cullen regrets asking him to lie, but he doubts it will change Alistair’s behavior anyway. At this point, Alistair and Dorian are thirty times closer than Cullen is to either of them.

“Hi Dorian,” says Alistair. “Yeah… he’s right here…” He covers the phone for a second. “He wants to talk to you.”

“No,” argues Cullen.

Alistair pushes the phone into Cullen’s face. “Come on… seriously?”

Cullen sighs and puts the phone up to his ear. He can hear Dorian breathing on the other end. It’s a soft, gentle sound that he hallucinates in the space between sleeping and waking.

“We need to talk,” says Dorian.

“Okay… when?” asks Cullen. He’s feeling horrible, but he isn’t _angry_ —he’s just _hurt_.

“ _Now_. I’ll come to you.”

They hang up and it occurs to Cullen that now they’re going to have some kind of conversation _at Alistair’s house_. Is that really a good idea?

“He’s coming over here,” says Cullen.

“I figured.” Alistair puts a few dishes into the sink and wipes the counter.

Cullen exhales. “Do you want me to go outside and meet him on the sidewalk?”

“No,” says Alistair. “I’m going to meet Icis for dinner. Just lock the door on your way out.”

 

The next few minutes pass in relative silence. Cullen tries to collect his thoughts while Alistair grabs his coat and runs his hands through his hair—it’s so wiry.

“Good luck,” Alistair says at the door.

“Thanks, Al.”

Before the door completely closes, it opens again—Dorian smiles at Alistair as they pass in the threshold. They both look wary.

“Hi,” says Cullen. He hasn’t moved from his own side of the island even though he wants to.

“Hi,” Dorian licks his lips.

_Silence._

“How have you been?” he asks.

“I’m okay…” lies Cullen. It’s been three weeks of absolute misery. He can’t believe he survived it.

“That’s good to hear…”

Uncharacteristically, Dorian is looking down at his palms and blinking a lot. He usually looks so confident.

“Can we just be honest?” asks Cullen. “What are you _doing_ here?”

Dorian nods. He rifles through a messenger bag on his hip and pulls out a thick stack of papers. When he’s splayed them out all over the counter, Cullen recognizes a few of them—they’re from that spare room.

“What is all this?” Cullen asks.

“This is everything…” Dorian waves a palm over the pages demonstratively, “Every letter, every scrap of research, every shred of _evidence_ …”

“It’s hardly a crime scene, Dorian,” Cullen rolls his eyes.

Dorian looks taken aback.

“Sorry…” Cullen reaches across the countertop and puts a hand onto Dorian’s forearm. “I didn’t mean that… I’m listening—”

Dorian nods, “When you found out about this, I was really… _embarrassed…_ ”

Cullen squints. He can’t understand what that _means_ in this context. “Why would you be embarrassed?”

Dorian laughs humorlessly, “You did _read_ the letters, didn’t you? No one _wants_ me…”

 _Oh_.

“It’s like you opened up a record of all my worst days and sifted through it… I was mortified,” Dorian adds.

“Dorian… you’re _amazing_ ,” Cullen stands and rounds the island so they’re face to face. “If these assholes don’t want you to be a parent, that’s their loss. You can contact another agency—I’ll help you… if you want...”

Dorian lifts one corner of his mouth. It isn’t convincing as _any_ kind of smile. “This is basically every agency… they all say the same thing: I’m not a good candidate.”

Cullen squints down at the sea of letters. “How can that be true?”

“I work too much,” Dorian shrugs, “I don’t own a home; I have a high-stress job; I’m _single_ …”

Cullen isn’t sure what to say. He _knows_ one simple solution to these problems, but he’s too afraid to even _think_ it, let alone suggest it.

“I’m really sorry I freaked out the other day,” says Dorian.

For a second, Cullen isn’t sure he has heard him right. It _sounds like_ Dorian just apologized—it is _not_ his style.

“I appreciate you saying that,” says Cullen. He reaches out to put a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “And I’m sorry that I went through your stuff—that was a shitty thing to do.”

Dorian takes two steps closer and leans his cheek on Cullen’s shoulder. It’s a hug without arms. “I feel like a failure.”

“Don’t say that,” Cullen wraps his arms around Dorian’s back. “You’re my favorite person in the world.”

“You have terrible taste,” quips Dorian.

Cullen laughs, despite himself. They let the laughter fade into silence until they’re just breathing into each other—slightly swaying.

“I love you,” says Dorian finally.

Cullen feels his heart speed up, but he doesn’t dare look. Dorian is like a deer when it comes to things like this—Cullen knows moving might spook him.

“I love you too.”

“Then will you help me?” Dorian asks. He backs up, but his hands linger at the hem of Cullen’s shirt.

“Help you?”

Dorian kneels suddenly. “Marry me?”

 

* * *

 

They decide to keep it a secret for a while. They don’t want anyone to treat them differently. Cullen knows that Dorian _especially_ doesn’t want to tell Alistair until the newness of his own engagement wears off. ‘ _It’s gauge, that’s why,_ ’ Dorian had said.

“Let’s just tell them we’re moving in together…” suggests Cullen one morning. Dorian is lying across his chest.

“Well, are we?” Dorian asks.

“Are we what?”

Dorian laughs, sitting up, “Are we moving in together?”

“Eventually, right?” Cullen smirks.

“Well, until we have a _deed_ to something, I don’t want to jinx it…” Dorian says seriously.

Cullen knows better than to argue. Even though they’re doing this—getting married, having a family—he knows Dorian is still spookable. He still walks the line. He thinks he _always_ might. It’s a small price to pay for being with the love of his life.

“Well, can I at least move in with you here in the interim?” asks Cullen.

“How would Icis pay her rent?” argues Dorian.

Cullen rolls his eyes and grabs Dorian around the waist. “You’re really _grasping_ with these excuses…” He pushes and pulls until they’re lying face to face.

Dorian smirks. “I’ll show you _grasping_.” He runs a hand down Cullen’s abdomen, but Cullen rolls onto his back, out of Dorian’s reach.

“Stop—I have to go; I can’t be late.” Cullen jumps out of bed. “But we’re not done talking about this…”

Dorian splays himself out across the bed. He looks so good, Cullen almost turns back, but he resists the urge and walks into the shower. When steam is completely filling the room, he hears Dorian open the door.

“I’ll make you a deal,” says Dorian.

“Okay.” Cullen has soap in his hair. He closes his eyes and lets water run down his face. Dorian wraps his arms around him from behind.

“If you agree to stop asking me about moving in together here…” says Dorian, “I’ll call a realtor today.”

“You will?” Cullen peeks from under his left eyelid.

Dorian smiles, “Yeah… as long as you agree that we won’t rush into a house we don’t love.”

Cullen agrees.

 

* * *

 

It takes a few months, but they finally find the place. It’s on the outskirts of of Bushwick in Brooklyn—not terribly far from where they live now. As soon as Cullen sees the inside, he knows Dorian is going to want to make an offer. They keep it together until the realtor leaves them alone in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

“This is where our kids are going to grow up,” announces Dorian.

Cullen smiles, “I knew you’d love this.”

“I mean… I know the bathrooms need work...and the kitchen is kind of dated…” Dorian paces across the hardwood floor.  He finds a spot that squeaks and interrupts himself, “Oh my god—it’s a _sign_!”

Cullen squints, “what is?”

“That _squeak_! Did you hear it?! ...so we can catch our kids sneaking out when they’re teennagers!”

Cullen laughs. “How many kids are we having?”

“Six,” answers Dorian. He’s smirking, but Cullen is slightly afraid he’s serious.

“We’re going to need a bigger house than this, in that case,” Cullen smiles.

Dorian leans in and kisses him.

“This is it, Cullen,” he says finally. “Let’s put in an offer—if we get it… we can finally tell everyone.”

They’ve agreed, at this point, to do the ‘big reveal’ at a supposed housewarming. Cullen thinks this is _just_ the place.

“I love you, Dorian,” says Cullen. They still don’t say that often, but he is starting to think that’s better—every time has impact… _Especially_ when Dorian says it, which he does this time, with tears in his eyes.

“I love you too…” It’s barely a whisper, but Cullen knows he means it.

“All right—let’s do this… the rest of our lives are waiting,” Cullen smiles, but he wonders if he’s gone too close to the spooking threshold. But, for once, he _hasn’t_.

Dorian nods. “I can’t wait.”

           

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is really satisfying for all of you. The next Coffee Shop Challenge begins May 1st. :) There's still time to catch up if you missed any... a fully-linked order is available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8694850).
> 
> Also... it probably goes without saying... but if you like this story, I would really love to hear from you. Comments make my heart sing.


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